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'The dogs understand each other. 'I will, so, sez Roberts, 'and I kin shoot a human dog, too." "What's that?" Uncle Mac was on his feet in an instant. "What's that? He said that to the Father? I'll murther him!" "Ye n'adn't," said Ann quietly. "The Father murthered him betther nor ye could, wid an answer. 'Don't let yer bad timper make ye thry to commit suicide, Mr.
"An' ye a Vicar Gineral." "Never mind, Ann. I'll get on somehow. Is there anything else?" "McCarthy's sick ag'in." "Well, I'll take the Holy Oils and go down there this morning." Ann was now herself again, or she wouldn't have come back so hard on the chronically dying McCarthy. "Sure, ye n'adn't do that. Ye've wasted a whole gallon of Holy Oil anointin' that omadhan four times already."
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